


False Hope

by ArtificialFlavorz



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtificialFlavorz/pseuds/ArtificialFlavorz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because what the Hell kind of specially trained operative forgets a condom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	False Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I first posted to my tumblr. I'm not entirely sure exactly how great it is, but I gave it a shot.

She clicked on her helmet and tried to breathe deeply. She was not panicking- that was unprofessional and definitely not the way to handle dangerous situations. (which this definitely qualified as) The HUD display on the lens flashed the date at her, like some kind of digital-clock god was laughing at her misery, and she tried desperately to remember how to turn _that fucking setting off_. She got it. She was one week, one day late. And Carolina was never late- not once. Her biology was punctual down to the fucking hour.

_Shit shit shit._ She wanted to check, once again, to see if, somehow, by some grace of God, or Buddha, or whatever the fuck spiritual people prayed to, her display was off by nine days. But she just clenched her teeth, kept counting her breaths, and went to find York.

It didn’t take too long.

He was with Washington and North, (when wasn’t he) feet propped up on a metal table that was definitely not supposed to be used as a foot rest, hands behind his head, armor half off, his helmet resting next to his feet, laughing at something Wash had just said. Her heartbeat picked up the moment he realized she was there.

Oh Jesus Carolina, she scolded herself, calm down.  She removed her helmet, continuing to ignore that damn clock as it blinked at her one last time, and brushed her bangs away from her eyes. “York. We need to talk.”

He pulled his hands away from the back of his head, swinging his legs off the table, and narrowed his eyes, his brow crinkling in concern. This wasn’t angry Carolina- not mildly-pissed-off Carolina either. It wasn’t even horny Carolina. (which was, yeah, one of his favorite Carolinas) This was a side of her he hadn’t seen.

York nodded at North, who stood almost immediately after the gesture, wrapping a hand around Wash’s upper arm, and dragging him out the door Carolina had entered through without a word.

“You okay Lina?” He could tell she wanted to cry- she was making the face- the one usually reserved for the Director when he didn’t speak to her after a mission, the one after he’d compliment South or Tex or, God forbid, York, and let his eyes slide past her. The one where her upper lip pressed down on her lower one, and her eyes got just slightest bit watery. York patted the chair next to him- the one Wash had been occupying not thirty seconds before- and she sat down, staring at a spot on the floor.

“I-” She paused, trying to gather together the words to describe exactly what she was thinking, what she wanted to say. “York.”

“Carolina.” He continued to stare at her- everything about him serious in a way she didn’t often see- no joking or pick up lines or dumb little pokes and prods.

“I’m-I-” She put her head in her hands. “Fuck it. York- I think I’m pregnant.”

York froze. His eyes-both the foggy one and the good one- were still glued on Carolina’s face, but he didn’t blink. It was as if something within him had short circuited.

“Did you- uh.” He shook his head slightly, “Get um, one of those… pee sticks?”

“A pregnancy test? No, York. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the infirmary isn’t just going to hand out pregnancy tests to every sexually active Freelancer who walks in there.” She chuckled darkly, “Especially me. Imagine if the Director found out.”

York paled considerably at the prospect, his eyes getting a little wide.

“Yeah.” Carolina stood, “That’s about the response I was expecting.” She sort of patted York’s head, not so much mad at him as she was mad at herself for letting this happen, and left, meeting North and a rather annoyed-looking Wash half way across the room and avoiding their gaze.

“So what’s up?” North took his spot next to York once again, eyeing York’s no longer relaxed position.

“Yeah, man. What’s up?” Wash leaned forward a bit in his chair, almost falling over. “Did Lina break up with you?” His tone was teasing, and North reached over and socked him in the arm.

“Be serious, Wash. York. What’s wrong?”

York sighed. “She- Carolina- she might be pregnant.” He glanced at his friends, who were both staring unblinkingly at him.

“Who else knows?” North was the first to speak up.

“Just us,” Agent York gestured to the three of them, “ And you two better keep it that way.”

“Man, a _baby_.” Wash was still staring at York. “You sure you’re ready for one of those?”

“I don’t really have a choice, Wash. Besides, they’re kinda cute,” York smiled a little, “‘specially if they look like Lina.”

“That… That’s a little weird, York.”

___________________

He didn’t want to tell her, but once he got over the initial shock, York was a little excited about the idea of a baby. He always sort of figured one was in his future anyways- sure, maybe a little later in life, a little more planned, but if this was the way that his future- fuck it, their future- was going to play out, he wasn’t complaining. He could imagine it- there was no way Carolina would drop the Freelancer project- him as some kind of stay-at-home dad.

It did stress him out though, what with Carolina training so much, and he found himself hovering closer than usual. It was a little annoying, actually.

Carolina got his concern, sure. It was great that he cared- that he didn’t run off and hide from her, and it was also nice that his first reaction wasn’t to get down on one knee and propose some shotgun wedding because of a pregnancy they weren’t even sure was real yet- but it was a little smothering the way he hung by and watched each one of her training sessions, and waited for her outside, following her into the locker room and  helping her pull 0ff her armor, checking her for bruises or scrapes and looking at her with those dumb puppy eyes- one cloudy, and one almost misty, and she’d just kind of let him mother-hen her.

The thing that really bothered Carolina about all this uncertainty was the way York had convinced North and Wash to take it easy on her- to keep from her actually getting hit, from sustaining any kind of minor injury, and, the way she saw it, from progressing.

But she still couldn’t blame him- she just had to work around him. One week had been enough-she was bored, and annoyed, and really wanted to hit something. (‘hormones’ York said, ‘You’re annoying’ Carolina responded) So she did the natural thing- she found someone who would hit back.

The doors hissed open at the last minute, and North Dakota ran in to the training room to stand next to his sister.

“Sorry I’m late, ladies.” He took position, “Somebody didn’t tell her big brother they were sparring today.”

South groaned. Carolina suddenly found herself wanting to murder York in a way she never had before. “Nice to see you, North.” She hissed, narrowing her eyes.

_____

North takes it easy- easier than ever before, actually. He almost appears to try and get in South’s way- (something he should know better than to do, but, still, he does it) slowing her attacks and tripping her up every time she almost landed half a punch.

About the ninth time this happened, South fucking lost it. Something within her snapped, so fucking done with her twin slacking off and fucking up her training.  She went all out-more than ever before, just beating the shit out of both her opponents- the one she wasn’t supposed to be sparring and the one she was supposed to be. In between rounds, she glanced up to the training bay windows- and noticed Agent New York, pressed against the glass, hands in his hair, looking so fucking distraught he resembled some kind of sad puppy. South finally turned around to face her brother.

“Stop it.”

“Why should I? I’m finally beating _Carolina_. Why the fuck should I stop now?”

“Because she’s fucking _pregnant_ , South.”

She froze, glancing over at Carolina, before speaking out loud. “F.I.L.L.S. Stop the match. We forfeit.”

______

Carolina walked into the locker room, glancing at South as she brushed past her, not shooting a single scathing remark towards Carolina- not even looking back at her.

Carolina began throwing off her armor- one piece at a time, so she was standing there in just her underwear when York ran in. His hair was messed up in the way that meant he’d been worrying about her- the way where she could see where each finger had clung to his normally perfect hair- and the crease between his eyebrows was back.

“I’m fine York.” She shot it at him before he could even ask, and he stopped and looked at her.

“You’re also shirtless.”

She had to smile a bit at that. “Yes, York. I’m also shirtless.”

“It’s distracting me from being worried about all this,, you know.”

“I know.”

He moved towards her, inspecting every inch of visible skin, checking for bruises or scrapes or even just little bumps. Carolina knew she was fine- just sore. The kind of sore she hadn’t been in a while, but she couldn’t necessarily complain about him running his fingertips over her bare skin, leaving trails of goose bumps behind.

She turned around, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her face into his chest.

“York,” She mumbled, “What if…”

“What if what?” He whispered back.

“What if I’m like him?”

York knew who she meant- she’d let it slip one time, when she was half asleep and a little spaced out on pain meds for a concussion, that the Director was her father. And that he’d been a bit of a shit one, too.

“You’re not gonna be like him, okay Lina? You’re gonna be fucking fantastic. If or when it happens- You’re gonna be the best mom ever.”

“But what if I’m not? What if our kid winds up with some kind of fucked up inferiority complex and I just goad them on? What if you’re gone? What about then, York?” She was crying a little.

He couldn’t think of what to say. He wasn’t used to that. Normally, he’d just talk to her. Say something to calm her down, or cheer her up, or whatever she needed at that particular moment. But this time- this time he couldn’t. It was his fucking fault- all of this. Her having to deal with all this was most definitely his fault because _what the Hell kind of specially trained agent forgets a fucking condom?_ So he just held her, and let her cry, and let her tell him how fucking terrified she was that she was going to be the worst mother ever- the worst at anything, really, and how she was happy he stayed but really, could he just stop hen-pecking her about everything.

____

“Are you guys going to do the obligatory ‘baby’s first Christmas’ thing with the antlers and dumb Santa shit? Because then I will disown you as a friend, York.” Wash tossed his apple up in the air, and looked like he was planning to catch it in his mouth and attempt to swallow it whole when North caught it and shot it into the trash can.

“I… don’t think so?” York watched the fruit sail from his field of vision and assumed the metallic ‘clunk’ signified that it had reached its intended target.

South, who was hovering behind her brother, frowned darkly, “Whatever you do, York, if you have twins, do not, for the love of God, make them dress alike.”

North mock-glared at her. “But Souuuth,” He stretched the single syllable into four, “You looked so adorable in those overalls!”

“I will kill you.”

North laughed,as if the idea were preposturous. 

York grinned to himself. _Twins._ He hadn’t even considered that possibility. Twins would be cool. And he’d most _definitely_ put them in matching overalls.

York was considering the prospect of twins (would one wind up a sadist or was that just a one-time fluke that North’s mother had needed to deal with?) when Carolina burst through the conference room door, beaming.

“Guess who just arrived.” She hissed in York’s ear. He could guess.

“It’s a little weird to call it a ‘who’, Lina.” York couldn’t tell if he was delighted or disappointed- the best descriptor he could think of was ‘both’, but he spun around in his chair anyways (the spinny chairs were the reason they were in the _technically-off-limits_ conference room to begin with) and kissed her, right there, in front of his friends, who just watched the exchange in awkward silence, Wash wondering if chairs were supposed to spin that fast or if something was wrong with the gravity, North a little disgusted by the amount of tongue and hand-roaming going on (and in pleasant company! well, sort of pleasant company), and South wondering why she’d never thought to call it a ‘who’ before.

____

York couldn’t sleep. It bugged him-it really did. Ever since she’d told him, he’d been fantasizing about it- about a crib, and holiday cards, and, okay, putting antlers on a baby with Carolina’s eyes, and mailing sixteen separate photos of the phenomenon to Wash. He’d been thinking about godparents- about how maybe the kid didn’t need a godmother, just a godfather North and an Uncle Maine and Wash to play video games with.

He stared at his hands. When he’d first imagined a kid with Carolina, it’d been weird- he couldn’t see any of him in him or her, just Carolina. The big eyes, the pouty lips, the stubborn expression. He could compress that down to baby size just fine. But the York bits- maybe his smile, maybe his jaw, whatever, he just couldn’t do that. He’d decided that with any bit of her, the baby would be perfect.

But there was no baby.

He rested his face in his palms and scolded himself. He wasn’t there to play house. He wasn’t even there to fall in love- that had been completely on accident. He was there to pick locks and kick ass and specifically not bang the Director’s daughter.

He glanced over at Carolina’s sleeping face- she was sprawled across _his_ bunk because that night was one of the nights when she’d just ‘felt lonely, shut up, York’ and snuggled up with him, in that dumb ‘I heart NY’ shirt that Wash had given to him the first Christmas at Project Freelancer, and a pair of his boxers that he’d never told her she could keep, and smiled a little to himself.

He picked up the little velvet box on his nightstand, the one he’d pulled out every night at the same time for the past two weeks, and flipped it open.  He wasn’t even sure what the gem on the ring was. All he knew was that it was seafoam green-ish. It could wait, York decided, Maybe months, maybe years, but goddammit, one day, he was going to get his annoying holiday cards and his adorable pouty baby and his favorite girl in the whole damn universe all to himself.

But it could wait.

 


End file.
